The Leader And The Damned

Chapter Twenty-Five

At the Munich station SS chief Mayr looked over the trio who were travelling to Vienna. He had chanced to be standing by the barrier when they arrived. He noted the girl's expensive outfit, the equally top quality luggage carried by the uniformed chauffeur, and the steward who limped – doubtless a war wound. He was opening his mouth to speak when Paco smiled at him and produced a sheaf of papers from her handbag.

'You are SS, I see,' she remarked. 'So undoubtedly you know my friend, Colonel Jaeger…'

She gave the word friend a certain inflection. At her mention of the name, Mayr's attitude changed. An amiable man of forty, he bowed and removed his cap which he tucked under his arm.

'Of course! My duty is to random check passengers' papers – so you must excuse any inconvenience.

'Look at the clock!' Paco said sharply. 'It would be more than an inconvenience if you cause me to miss the Vienna Express. I have transit documents signed personally for myself and my servants by Colonel

Jaeger. Do be quick…'

Mayr glanced at the clock, saw Jaeger's signature on the papers and hastily gestured for her to pass on to the platform.

'A safe journey,' Mayr wished her.

Lindsay was careful not to look at the German as he shuffled past with the cases, and followed Bora and Paco who was walking briskly past the coaches until she came to an empty compartment. Opening the door, she climbed aboard, leaving her companions to follow as she glanced along the corridor. It was deserted.

'You handled that brilliantly,' Lindsay remarked after he had put the cases on the rack. The express was moving out of the station. His admiration was genuine: she had employed just the right mixture of arrogant confidence and feminine wiles.

'One obstacle overcome,' responded Paco and removed her fur hat, then used her hands to settle her blonde hair.

'This superb luggage – Bora's loden garb – where did you get all this from?' Lindsay asked.

'None of your business,' snapped Bora.

'Don't be liverish,' Paco chided him amiably. 'It is a reasonable question.' She looked at Lindsay. 'We broke into a villa outside Munich and stole everything. Nothing impresses the officer class more than an impression of great wealth – which means power.'

'What about tickets?' Lindsay asked suddenly. 'In Germany they inspect them on the train.'

Paco opened her handbag and produced three first-class tickets which she gave to Lindsay. 'The chauffeur carries things like that – and you speak German. You know, Lindsay, you're learning quickly – to think of details. I bought those this morning when I saw at the station the Swiss trains were being watched…'

'They're return tickets – to Vienna and back…'

'So,' Paco replied, 'if Jaeger should check before we leave the train he'll think I'm coming back, as I said I would. That is the one unfortunate episode I wish we could have avoided – my having to use Jaeger's name with that SS officer. They may find out the train we are travelling on.'

'Does that matter?' asked Bora in a casual tone. 'In only three hours we shall be in Vienna.'

Lindsay stared into the corridor. A cleaner wearing overalls and a rail-man's peaked cap was collecting rubbish with a dust-pan and hand-brush. It was Milic. He winked at Lindsay and proceeded towards the front of the train.

'Yes, using Jaeger's name might matter,' Paco told Bora. 'Don't you see,' she went on, 'back in the basement Lindsay raised the spectre of what could happen if someone checks on my description…'

The express was now picking up speed, the wheels clicking in a hypnotic rhythm. Lindsay said nothing. Three hours to Vienna…'

In his office Schmidt had fallen asleep at his desk, his head resting on his forearms. The remains of a meal were on a tray. It was very silent inside the large building. The shrill sound of the 'phone ringing brought him awake with a start. He looked at the clock. Christ! 10.45 pm.

'Schmidt…'

He got no further. Brandt started speaking, his voice surprisingly alert. There was a sense of achievement, too.

'I have the Baroness Werther's description. It took delicate handling. I gave as the reason for the enquiry some problem of mistaken identity. You were not mentioned…'

Schmidt changed his mind about Brandt. The Gestapo man had shown a discretion he would not have expected. He was relieved: it kept Jaeger out of the picture. He held a pencil poised over his notepad.

'Thanks, I appreciate it. Let's keep it that way. Now…'

'Height 1.5 metres, a brunette, on the plump side. Twenty-nine years old. Wears glasses – short-sighted as a bat. Any help?'

Schmidt kept the alarm out of his voice. 'Yes, that's extremely helpful. I am most obliged – and sorry to keep you working so late.'

'Gives me a good excuse to arrive home in the early hours – I have a little detour on the way,' Brandt concluded sardonically.

Schmidt replaced the receiver and felt sick. Another subordinate would have used the information to harpoon his chief – clear the way for his own promotion. The thought never entered his head. He twisted round in his chair as the door opened. Jaeger peered in – behind him stood Mayr.

'It's about the Baroness Werther,' Schmidt said cryptically. 'I would appreciate a word in private..

Jaeger said something to Mayr, entered the room and shut the door. He was in an ebullient mood as he stripped off his gloves and tossed them on to a desk with his cap. Swivelling round a hard wooden chair, he straddled the seat and leaned his elbows along the back.

'You look worried, Schmidt. Never worry. Problems have a habit of solving themselves. Never stir things up unnecessarily. It is one of the Fuhrer's favourite maxims.'

'This is a description of the Baroness Werther…'

Jaeger read the wording on the sheet Schmidt had torn from his notepad. Most men would have wasted time questioning the source of the information, the reason why Schmidt had involved himself in the matter. Jaeger simply handed the sheet back.

'I have been taken for a ride, Schmidt. And what a ride! She – whoever she may be – is superb. I gave her transit documents for herself and her so-called servants!'

'Are there copies in the files?' Schmidt asked quickly. 'Transit to where?'

'No copies, comrade. Transit by rail, Munich to Vienna.'

He broke off as the door opened. Mayr walked into the room and closed the door. A tall, thin man, he looked puzzled.

'Excuse me, but I've been thinking it over. Did I hear you make a reference to the Baroness Werther?'

'Yes,' Jaeger said immediately, and waited.

'I saw her aboard the Vienna Express this evening with her entourage. She showed me the transit you had signed. She's a real looker, that blonde…'

'Who comprised her entourage?' Jaeger enquired casually.

'A uniformed chauffeur. I can't describe him -he had a peaked cap pulled down over his forehead and was lumbered with luggage. Then there was another man – he looked like one of those stewards you find in the country looking after an estate. He was limping, a relic of his war, I imagine. Is it important?'

'Sheer curiosity,' Jaeger replied promptly. 'There was a third man?'

`No, quite definitely…'

'Which train? What time?' asked Schmidt. `Departed on time at eight o'clock. There is no problem?'

'Not on the basis of what you have told us, Jaeger replied.

'Then I'm off to bed. See you both in the morning.'

Schmidt had crossed the room and was grasping a railway timetable off a shelf as Mayr closed the door.

He leafed through it quickly, checked with his finger down a series of times. His finger stopped. He looked at the clock. 10.51.

'It's still on the way…' Schmidt had trouble suppressing his relief. 'Arrives in nine minutes. 2300 hours. Who do we know…?'

'In Vienna? Anton Kahr – in charge of SS. An old buddy of mine – we served together on the Russian front…'

Schmidt checked a list of classified numbers, picked up the phone and asked for a top priority call. He held on to the earpiece as the operator contacted Vienna. Jaeger, as controlled as though on the eve of a battle, thought out aloud.

'Mayr will be compelled to keep quiet when I have to tell him – he saw them aboard the train. The odd thing is, there should have been another man – there were three of them when they lifted Lindsay out of the Frauenkirche…'

'Kahr on the line…' Schmidt handed the phone to his chief and watched the clock as Jaeger talked rapidly and concisely. It was still only 10.54 when he completed the call.

'Six minutes before the express arrives,' Schmidt said.

'And when it does, Kahr and his men will be waiting concealed on the platform. The Baroness is due for a little surprise…'